


The Strong Ones

by hjea



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen, pre-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjea/pseuds/hjea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Olivia; vulnerable. For LadyFest '10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strong Ones

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 06/21/10.

In some ways, coming back from the other side is easier the second time than the first. In most ways it isn’t.  
  
Olivia has no broken bones. She is not lying in a hospital bed with tubes in her arms and a gun underneath her pillow. But she sits in Walter’s lab and cannot stop shaking, long after shock should have worn off. Not the occasional tremors of last time, but full bodied and utterly uncontrollable.  _Trembling like an aspen leaf_ , she thinks, and then immediately wonders where she got that saying from. It was probably one of her mother’s, although she can’t think now whether it was from her own or the other one.  
  
Walter bustles into her line of vision again, and she turns her face away. “I’m sorry Walter,” she forces out between her chattering teeth, eyes fixed on the opposite wall. “I know it wasn’t you, but...”  
  
“No, I, uh, I understand,” he says, although his voice makes it sound like she is breaking his heart. “I will go, and I’ll, um, I’ll check in tomorrow.”  
  
Olivia closes her eyes and listens to him leave, and cannot hold in the quiet breath of relief when she is sure he is really gone. Peter sighs beside her, and her eyes fly open. She had forgotten he was still there.  
  
“I should go.”  
  
“Olivia.”  
  
Peter’s voice is a soft warning, and he holds out his hands palms upward as if she was a flighty bird. “I don’t think that’s a good---”  
  
“No, I know, I’m fine Peter, and I should go, I need to go to Rachel and Ella and...”  
  
She stands, and her knees buckle from under her. She doesn’t fall because Peter is there, and Astrid, appearing from nowhere, supporting her other side.  
  
“Rachel is fine, and so is Ella.” The other woman reassures. “They understand.” Looking into Astrid’s concerned eyes, Olivia can see that that is true, that thanks to the other one, they now must understand nearly everything.  
  
Astrid’s fingers travel to Olivia’s temple with wincing sympathy, where she lost a hank of hair--pulled out by the roots--in her escape. “Let us clean you up a bit. Maybe I can fix your hair so--”  
  
“--Just cut it off.”  
  
Astrid looks Olivia steadily in the eyes before nodding. “Okay.”  
  
Peter half carries her to a new chair, and a minute later Astrid brings a basin of hot water on a tray and lowers her head gently back. “I think the red is nearly gone.” She remarks to Olivia. “I should be able to wash it out.’  
  
Olivia nods. “Good.”  
  
Astrid’s fingers are combing through her hair, gently soothing her scalp, and she can feel Peter’s hand wrapped loosely around her wrist, as if he is holding her steady to the ground. He lowers his head and brushes his lips so softly to the pulse point there.  
  
Olivia lets the tears spill from her eyes.


End file.
